


In Sickness

by Fyre



Series: Ne'er So Fair [7]
Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen didn't get sick often, but of course, the one time he did was a night he'd been staying at Frankie's place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness

Stephen felt crap.

He’d been feeling crap all day, all hot and feverish and he didn’t even want to think about the sweat stains on his pyjamas. There had been a bug going around at rehearsals, but he thought he’d got away without catching anything.

He still had to work, and he was halfway down the stairs when his legs just refused to go any further, and he sat down in a heap where he was standing. He frowned tiredly at his legs. They weren’t cooperating. 

“Shit,” he muttered, groping for the banister. 

He managed to haul himself back up to the flat after sitting still for a few minutes, and it took him six attempts to get the key in the lock. He didn’t get much further, sitting down just inside the door, his legs shaking too much to hold him.

Luckily, Frank wasn’t working late.

Ten past five, and the door opened and knocked against Stephen’s legs where he was sitting.

Frank flicked on the light, looking down at him in astonishment. “Jesus!” He was on his knees beside Stephen, cradling his face, and his hands felt so cold that Stephen shuddered. “Fucking hell, Carmichael, how long’ve you been lying there?”

Stephen shook his head.

It was all a bit blurry.

He wasn’t sure how he got from the hall to the bedroom. He was pretty sure there was carrying involved, but all he could be sure of was lying against the pillows, as Frank stripped off every single thing he was wearing.

“Not in the mood,” he protested faintly.

Frank pulled him up into a sitting position and pulled one of his own t-shirts over Stephen’s head, thicker and warmer than Stephen’s usual pyjamas. “If you could see the state of you,” he said, “you wouldn’t be even thinking about that. You look shit.”

Stephen made a face, then winced, his head throbbing. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Frank laid him back. “I’ll get a bucket,” he said. “Don’t move.”

Stephen closed his eyes, putting both hands over his face. God, he was dying. He had to be dying. He rolled onto his side, and was sick all over the floor. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

Stephen looked up pitifully. Frank was picking his way around the mess. “M’sorry,” he whispered, his mouth bitter with bile. “I don’t feel well.”

Frank sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed his palm to Stephen’s brow. “You’re hot,” he said.

“Well, yeah,” Stephen whispered.

“Sod off,” Frank said, but his voice was gentler than usual. “You know what I mean. You’ve got a temperature.”

Stephen nodded, and immediately regretted it. “Can I stay?” he whispered.

In reply, Frank got him in under the covers and tucked the blankets around him to keep him warm. He stroked Stephen’s brow with his broad, cool hand, then leaned down and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

“I’ll get you some water and some paracetomol,” he said. “Bucket’s on the floor if you feel sick again.”

Stephen groped after him, catching his wrist, his heart pounding. “Don’t leave,” he whispered, and immediately felt like a clingy idiot. 

“I’m only going for water, you silly nonce,” Frank said, his voice still soft. He covered Stephen’s hand on his wrist with his other hand. “D’you think I’d leave you in this state? I might be a fucking idiot sometimes, but I’m not a completely arse.”

Stephen knew he was ill, but it was bloody embarrassing to burst into tears because of it.

Frank was back on the bed beside him in a heartbeat, gathering him up and holding him, stroking his hair over and over. “I’m here, yeah? I’m here,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of Stephen’s head. “I’ll look after you.”

Stephen knew he clung to him. He knew he babbled at him. He didn’t have a clue what he was saying. The room was swirling around him, and for all he knew, he was singing show tunes about how much he’d missed Frank’s cock.

It was stupid, and if anything was going to scare Frank off again, Stephen knew it would be him out of his mind in a fever. When he got sick, he couldn’t keep his trap shut. It always got him in trouble, and he tried to stop himself talking, but he couldn’t, even when his mouth was dry and his cheeks were wet.

“I’ll get you that water, yeah?” Frank murmured, using the end of his sleeve to wipe Stephen’s cheek. “I’ll be back in two minutes.”

Stephen nodded, shivering, and pulled the blankets tight around him. He felt too cold, even under the covers.

Frank was as good as his word. He was back minutes later, and helped Stephen drink a glass of water and knock back a couple of tablets. He even remembered to pick up Stephen’s phone and call work for him without Stephen having to ask.

He cleared up the mess on the floor as well, and brought warm mugs of soup through from the kitchen for both of them. Stephen only managed a few mouthfuls, before turning away, his stomach twisting.

“M’cold.”

Frank kicked his shoes off and crawled onto the bed, putting his hand to Stephen’s brow again. “You feel warm,” he said. “You want a hot water bottle or something?”

Stephen shook his head and tugged at Frank’s arms. “You.”

Oh God, he was so embarrassing when he was sick.

He wouldn’t have blamed Frank for laughing.

But Frank didn’t. 

Instead, he just got up and took his work clothes off and put on his t-shirt, then crawled under the blankets and let Stephen curl against him, clinging to him like a desperate limpet. He wasn’t even that warm, but it felt better, even just a little more heat.

He must’ve fallen asleep, because he was woken by a sharp pain right through his temples, and keened, wrapping his hands over his head, squirming under the covers. Frank sat up at once beside him, catching his arms. 

“M’here,” he murmured. “Tell me what you need.”

“Sore,” Stephen whispered.

Frank was out of the bed like a shot and came back with another couple of painkillers. He slipped his arm under Stephen’s shoulder and helped him drink, then laid him back down, smoothing the blankets around him.

“I’m going to ring NHS 24, okay?” he said. “See if they can tell me anything useful.”

Stephen nodded, then winced, burying his face in the pillow.

He heard Frank murmuring somewhere nearby, but everything was fuzzy around the edges, hearing, seeing, everything. God, he felt crap. He closed his eyes and buried his face deeper in the pillow, hoping it would go away soon.

 

 

_______________________________________________________

 

 

Stephen was asleep.

He last thing Frank had expected to find lying on the floor of the hall. Still, there he was, looking half-dead, so Frank had hauled him back to the bed they had shared that morning, and now, Stephen - still shivering and flushed with fever - was asleep.

When he was awake, the silly bastard looked like he expected to be abandoned to get on with it.

Frank padded through to the kitchen and put the kettle on again. 

He could understand why Stephen was worrying. They'd only been seeing each other again for a few weeks, and it wasn't the same. Not in a bad way. They'd both grown, matured, and Frank wasn't the same edgy bastard he'd been in the past. But Stephen kept glancing at him, and Frank wondered what he was seeing.

From the shit he was talking, when he tossed and turned in his fever, it sounded like he thought Frank had surpassed him, which was fucking ridiculous.

Frank returned to the bedroom with a mug of tea - white, two sugars. Some things never changed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached over, touching the back of his fingers lightly to Stephen's brow. He was still hot, but not burning up as much as he had been.

Stephen shifted, murmuring in his sleep, and Frank stroked his brow, his hair, soothingly.

He wasn't good at the comforting shit. He'd never really needed to do it before, but with Stephen, it came easily. He wanted to make Stephen feel better, so he did all the things he thought would help, even if wiping Stephen's puke off the floor made him feel like puking himself.

That was love, he thought.

Made you do the fucking disgusting things without thinking about how disgusting they were, just because it'd make the guy you shagged feel better. That's why he was stinking of Stephen's sour sickness sweats from being clung to like he was a fucking teddy bear. And it's why, when Stephen started shivering, he crawled back under the blankets and took Stephen in his arms again.

He'd never seen Stephen sick before, not when they were at school or after, and he'd never looked after anyone before, not when it was sickness instead of bruises, but it felt simple when Stephen trembled in his arms: keep him warm, keep him safe.

Stephen tangled himself around Frank's body, clinging to him tightly, and Frank talked shit at him softly, stroking his hair, his back, his neck, his arms. It looked like it helped, because Stephen's wire-tense body gradually relaxed and folded down beside him, limp as a wet cloth.

It wasn't even proper dark outside yet, but it was easier to go to sleep there and then, instead of lying awake and mooning over Stephen liking a sentimental tosser. He brushed his fingers along Stephen's cheek, and felt his breath warm on the inside of his own wrist.

"Sleep well," he murmured, closing his eyes.

He only dozed, cos Stephen was shifting and shivering too much for anything more, but by the time he woke up properly, Stephen was breathing more evenly, and somehow, they'd ended up on their sides, and Stephen was pressed against Frank's back, his nose buried in Frank's shoulder. One of his legs had settled between Frank's, warm and solid and broad.

They always ended up like that when they slept together. 

Frank didn’t know why.

It made him feel small, and safe, and secure. 

Maybe because Stephen was physically so strong, all solid muscle and warmth. Maybe, because Frank knew he was still fucked in the head, and liked to just - for once in a while - be held like he was worth holding on to.

Back in the day, they’d only stayed with each other a few times at home, but in Maga, when they went for a week’s holiday, when they’d spent the whole time laughing and shagging and messing about on the beach, they’d stayed together, and Frank had never been happier than he had in that week.

He ran his hand lightly along Stephen’s forearm that was wrapped around his waist.

Stephen nuzzled against his shoulder, half-asleep. “Mm?”

“Y’awake?”

“Mm.” Stephen snuggled closer to him. “Y’r’warm.”

“You too,” Frank murmured, though he was relieved to notice that Stephen wasn’t as hot and clammy as he’d been the night before. He covered Stephen’s hand on his belly, easing his fingers between Stephen’s. “Feeling any better?”

Stephen nodded drowsily, rubbing his cheek on Frank’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

Frank stared blankly at the wall. “Don’t go,” he said, so suddenly he surprised himself.

Stephen lifted his head, then lowered it with a wince. Frank twisted in his arms, guilty for making Stephen move too much to soon, and he wrapped an arm around him, holding him steady.

“Y’okay?”

Stephen looked paler than usual, but his eyes were open and he gazed at Frank, lifting a hand to touch his cheek. “What did you say?” he whispered. His lips were cracked and dry, and god, Frank was a selfish bugger for not thinking of that.

“I’ll get you a drink,” he said, sitting up.

Stephen’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Frankie.”

He looked back down, at Stephen’s hand, then at his face. He was a fucking coward sometimes, and Stephen had his own life, and his own place, and they were doing all right, but he’d said it now, what he’d been thinking for days, and there was no taking it back.

“Don’t go,” he said quietly. “When you’re better. Come here and live with me.”

Stephen’s face broke into a smile. Exhausted, but still fucking beautiful. “You sentimental bastard,” he murmured. “Is that all?”

All? Only living together with the man he’d loved for years.

“If you want,” Frank muttered, lowering his eyes. 

Stephen slid his hand down, to grasp Frank’s. “I want,” he whispered. “God, I want.”

Frank couldn’t help leaning down and kissing him, though Stephen turned away, offering his pale cheek instead.

“Got the plague, remember, babe?” he whispered.

Frank’s finger curled under his cheek, turning his face back. “Right now,” he said, “I couldn’t give a shit.” Then he kissed him.


End file.
